A Blasted Heath Poem by Adrian Flett

Ahead and behind us over bare earth
all blasted by wind's cold raw sound,
range terriers and a deerhound.
Stop, look across our native heath.
Towards the road far down,
bright green bush is fodder soon,
its own success its own doom.

Over parched veld, fingers touch, stark
in this short-lighted winter's day.
There's much to be said but what to say
in fast fading light, though not yet dark.
Space between us all important we know,
though ignored, will become ever more so.
And will be so as the longer we go.

The moon a soft pink fullness as it rises
hardens to a cold steel disc as sun fades.
Our lives collide, emerge from this surprise,
impact others as our decisions are made
in a fearsome flurry, of what future holds.
Lives will change, we'll break moulds.
Or should we wait for tomorrow morning's cold?